


the colour of it

by unicyclehippo



Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [20]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, idk its a prompt read into it as much as u would like, jester can see auras sort of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: prompt: cafuné - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you loveor, Jester's wisdom colours the world and its people in strange and difficult ways to read.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824289
Comments: 1
Kudos: 108





	the colour of it

She’s loved Beau’s hair from the moment they met. Some human girl with her booted feet kicked up on the table and long dark hair twisted into a topknot. But it’s the shaved hair, sharp and exposing the soft of the girl’s neck and the paler skin where the hair once covered from the sun that had Jester’s full attention—not something she could put words to then but so so so _cool_ as Jester had squealed then, flinging herself into the chair opposite, and earning a precious look at Beau. Her first ever. Her treasured thing. The surprise was crystal clear blue, pure for a moment until murky reds and browns mixed into it a moment later. Jester didn’t know her well enough to know what those colours meant but she hadn’t liked the way they oozed like something bleeding sluggishly. And the speed in which Beau covered it up, the surprise and everything else, painted over it with brass: gleaming, red-tinted, and loud.

Jester knows what these colours mean for Beau now. And she knows she loves her hair for being so uniquely Beau. The sharp line of it, the way it straddles the long hair of a proper lady and the shaved scalp of a monk, the gradient of colour as her dark skin lightens the faintest bit. How, even if it makes her look tough and strong and fierce, the hair itself is impossibly soft.

Jester winds the headband, braids it into the underside of the longer hair. She does so carefully, not wanting to tug or pull painfully. And maybe she does it slowly too because she gets to feel the locks shifting through her fingers, smooth and silky like ribbon. She gathers Beau’s hair into its customary topknot, holds it as Beau uses a little mirror to check out her work.

‘Happy?’

‘Hell yeah. That looks fuckin’ awesome, Jes!’ The truth of it is golden. It always is with Beau.

Jester beams. Lets Beau’s hair tumble down again around her shoulders. She runs her fingers through it; sees her own face in the mirror, and beyond the familiar blue of her skin there is a flush of pink and purple and blue, blue, blue. Jester stares, eyes wide, at the sight of herself in those colours. They’re familiar but not on herself.

Her hands shift, curling a strand of dark hair around a finger. Beau tilts her head back for her, allowing her to scratch at the crown of her scalp and pull her fingers through her hair. Pink swirls around Jester’s fingertips; she panics, pulls her hand back.

‘Ow, hey! What the hell, Jes,’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, here,’ Jester hasn’t a spell to spend here but she sets her cool hand where the strands tugged painfully and hopes it helps. It must—it might—because Beau settles.

‘Ow,’ she says again, flatly, as a reminder, as a mild complaint.

Jester swirls her fingers over that point. ‘Sorry.’

‘D’you see a bug or something?’

Jester considers telling her what she saw, but then she would have to explain the colours, and what she had seen on herself, and she isn’t quite ready for that. So she lies. ‘Yeah. A real big one.’

‘Oh, gross. Not – like – _in_ my hair, right?’

‘No, no, no you’re perfect,’ Jester assures her, feels Beau settle.

‘I saw this beetle when we were in that underwater temple. Y’know, the one with the fruit that sent Nott and Caleb sky-high. I think the beetles were fuckin' toasted on it because they were making, like, spirals in the moss an’ shit and–'

Jester lets her fingers drift over the down-soft hair of Beau’s undercut as Beau tells her. Leans forward to press dry lips to that point where neck meets spine Pulling back, Jester glances into the mirror again. Pink, pink, pink. And blue, endless blue.

**Author's Note:**

> hi im unicyclehippo on tumblr as well, feel free to swing on by & say hi or send me a prompt x


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